


Counting on You

by Aude



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5978056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aude/pseuds/Aude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam have been counting all their lives. Snapshot of moments showing how the brothers bond and comfort one another through touch over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting on You

Bare toes flex in the dewy grass, arms wrapped tight around cloth and skin. Cool air hits scorched lungs as eyes travel up past the flames to the stars above.  
"It's okay, Sammy, I got you little brother. Just look at all the stars, see? One" quick kiss to a baby-soft forehead, "two" lips on his tiny nose, "three, four" the palm of each hand, "five, six" on both tear-stained cheeks "It's gonna be okay, just watch the stars, it'll be okay."

 

Screaming wakes them, curled around each other under rough hotel sheets.  
"Dad's just dreaming again, Sammy, it's alright."  
His little brother is staring wide eyed, clutching at Deans shirt.  
"Let's go outside, huh?" Sam nods.  
Hand in hand they quietly make their way out to the parking lot. Dean lifts 4 year old Sam onto the hood of the Impala and crawls up behind him, wrapping his arms around the small chest. Sam's hands clasp Dean's in his lap and they both tilt their heads up.  
"Can you count 'em off for me?"  
Slight tickle on his chest as Sam shifts. "One." Dean's lips touch his kid brother's hair and press into the crown of his head. "Two," down on his left shoulder, "three" his right "four, five, six" Dean holds Sam’s tiny hand to his face and kisses the inside of his right wrist, then starts on each digit, lips touching briefly after each number is called off.  
Sam turns his head and starts to giggle, "that tickles, De!"  
Sam keeps counting as Dean matches every number with a kiss to his brother's skin. The younger's eyes are getting heavier so Dean scoops him up, arms wrapping loosely around his neck, and places a final kiss behind Sam's ear.

 

Sam's asking too many questions now, 8 years old and too smart for his own good. "Why do we move around so much? I'm old enough, Dean, you can tell me the truth."  
And yea, he's older than Dean was when his world was blown wide open. But he's still his baby brother and he knows the pain and fear that comes with knowing what's out there, knowing dad is running right into the face of danger every day.  
"You don't wanna know the truth. Believe me."  
Their dad’s still gone that night. Christmas Eve. Dean comes back from getting groceries and Sam's got Dad's journal on his lap. Panic fills his chest, _no, not yet, he's still so young, not yet, damnit Sammy, why'd you have to be so stubborn._ Sighing, Dean walks around closes his hands over Sam's, explains briefly about monsters and hunting, assuring him dad is a superhero, he'll be fine, he's keeping them safe.  
Sam's got tears in his eyes and turns toward the bed "I just wanna go to sleep, okay?"  
"Yeah. Okay, Sammy."  
Dean's woken up by warm fingers dancing across his arm. "Hey, what's up?"  
"I went outside to count the stars, but it's all clouds. So...well your freckles, there's a lot of 'em. Just like the stars. So I started counting."  
Dean's heart clenches tight and a smile tugs at his lips. "What number you at?"  
"18."  
"Guess I gotta catch up then."  
Wrapping his hand around Sam's he tugs him down, kisses his arms and hands and head and belly, blowing raspberries in places of kisses there. They lay there, Dean's lips pressed in a constant kiss against Sam's forehead as he counts the freckles scattered across bare shoulders and chest, reaching well over 100 before finally drifting to sleep.

 

Sam's 13, alone and scared. Sitting in this empty hotel room waiting to hear from his family. He knows what they're hunting, been helping them research the last few days. Light washes over the room briefly and he hears the familiar rumble of the Impala. Racing outside, he sees Dad, a little rough but moving fine, mouth in a thin line and rounding to the passenger side. Then he spots Dean, hand pushing hard into his side and leaning his weight on Dad to get out of the car and into the room.  
"What happened? You okay, De? Lemme see."  
"He's fine, got thrown against some trees ‘cause he couldn't keep quiet."  
Bark of laughter, "Yeah, because she was comin' after you from behind, I was tryin’ to warn you."  
John's eyes are downcast, scratching at the back of his head, "Yeah, well, have a little more of a plan next time you start yellin’ at a banshee to come get you. Help clean your brother up, Sammy."  
"Yes, sir."  
After Dean's bandaged and Dad's asleep on one of the beds, Sam grabs a beer for his brother and they head outside. Dean leans back in his chair, Sam right next to him.  
"I was scared. Didn't hear from you guys for a while and..."  
"I know Sammy, I'm sorry. I'm okay though, we're okay." Dean opens his eyes and catches Sam worrying his bottom lip. "Hey," reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I'm okay. Really. Sorry we scared you. But you got nothin' to worry about. Ain't nothin' gonna stop me from coming back to my dorky little brother, 'specially with your big play comin' up" Dean winks.  
Sam chuckles, "You remembered?"  
"'Course I remember. My geek brother on the big stage. You're gonna be a star, Sammy." Dean takes a long pull from his beer and lays his head back against the chair again, eyes drifting shut.  
They're quiet for a long while, Dean's breath soft and evening out, when Sam starts counting again.  
One. Light kiss to Dean's pinkie. Two, the top of his wrist. Three, inside the crook of Dean's elbow, soft flesh and warm. Four, lips press against cotton on the curve of his shoulder. Five, the side of his head, hair tickling his mouth. Dean murmurs and his head lolls to the side. Breath catches in Sam's throat. He shakes his head to clear it. Six. Feels Dean's breath ghost over his lips as he leans up and kisses the tip of his nose. Dean's eyes open and the brilliant green freezes Sam.  
"Hey, kiddo." Dean's smiling, putting a hand on his shoulders and pushing, leaning, sitting up. "Let's go to bed." Slings his arms around Sammy's back and walks into the room.

 

Dean flinches at the bang of the screen door slamming shut. Realizes the screaming stopped somewhere along the line. John's got his hands around a bottle of something dark and Sammy's not there. He heads out the back door, not needing to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, he just follows the sounds. Heavy breathing, leaves rustling. Puts his hands on Sam's shoulders and spins him around to face him. Shining eyes meet his, anger slowly dissipating and face contorting in pain.  
"I'm sorry, Dean. Sorry I didn't tell you. I just," tears escape the confines of his eyes, making jagged paths down his cheeks. "I can't do this. I can't be like you, can't just listen and take orders from that man. He treats us like soldiers, Dean! Not his sons. I just want something normal, just...I don't want to leave you, De. I just can't be around this anymore. I just can't." Sam starts to break down, nearly hyperventilating and Dean just drags him closer, tears now staining his own cheeks, too.  
"Hey." Voice thick with emotion, like gravel and mud. "Hey, look at me, huh." Dean cups his face, fingers wet, smoothing over cheekbones. "Just breathe for me, just breathe." Sam's eyes are wild, filled with fear, anger, confusion, and something else Dean can't place. He's hauling in shaky breaths, eyes locked with Dean's, tears still spilling out steadily… "Good boy, that's good Sammy."  
"Count, Dean." Sam nearly sobs, forehead coming to rest against Dean's. Hands grab at his shoulders, heavy breath pushed out across his face.  
"Yeah, yeah okay, Sam. One."  
Sam pulls Dean's hands from his cheeks, holds them between their mouths. Pads of Dean's fingers press against wet shaky lips.  
"Two, three, four…"  
Sam kisses the tip of each finger, breath slowing with each touch of skin.  
Dean's breath is doing the opposite, louder and heavier with every increasing number. Sam let his hands go, now holding his face between these huge palms. How did they get so big, _when_ did he get so big? His baby brother now leaning down to kiss his cheeks. Tasting his tears, eyes staring into his.  
Dean stopped counting at some point, he doesn't remember when. And then Sam tilts his head and places a tender kiss to each of Dean's eyelids. Lips ghosting over skin as they trail down his nose. Light kiss to the tip. And then he's breathing in Sam's air, dry lips catching with each inhale. He opens his eyes and sees Sam, blue and grey and green and gold shimmering, he catches something that looks like regret and then those eyes close, lips push into his, hold for a few moments, a small sound catching in Sam's throat. And his brother is pulling away. Eyes sad, apology falling from his lips one last time, "I'm sorry, Dean."

 

Dean's 24, sitting in the Impala after a solo job. John is who-knows-where and Dean's still getting used to not having anyone at his back in case things go south. He's fine, couple gashes that took a few stitches to stop the bleeding. Laying across the front seat with a towel down (not risking blood stains on Baby), he leans his head back against the window, eyes locked on the night sky.  
This time when he counts, instead of lips meeting soft skin, they wrap around the cold bottle of whisky and pull.

Sam sits outside his dorm, looking up at the sky like he does almost every night. It's the only way he can feel close to his brother anymore. He won't call, not after what happened that night. Dean never mentioned the kiss, probably thought it was just his little brother trying to calm down the way he was taught - counting punctuated with kisses to focus on what's right in front of him and stop his mind from spinning. He sighs, lays back down in the grass and counts alone. Pursing his lips around the end of a cigarette, long deep drag after each number.

 

Sam is 23, cradled in Dean's arms, knees caked in blood and mud, head hanging limp in steady hands.  
"I’m gonna take you care of you. I’ve got you. That’s my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother? C'mon, Sam. Sam. Look, look at all those stars, count 'em with me, please?" Lips tracing all over his face and hair. Eyes wet with tears and the blood pounding too loud in his ears. "C'mon, please, Sam. SAM!"

 

"Sammy, all I'm saying is that you're my weak spot." Sam's heart stutters, wanting to fight it, but it's true. Dean continues, "You are. And I'm yours."  
I'm yours.  
Sam shakes his head. "You don't mean that. We're… we're family." And while that's true, they both know that's just a sad attempt to find a word that explains what they mean to each other.  
Dean's going to die. He is going to Hell because of whatever this thing is between them, and Sam knows he's not going to be able to live with that.  
The clock is chiming, counting down this time instead of up. He wants to be there. If he can't save his brother he at least wants to hold his hand, wrap him up, cover him with his body to keep the hellhounds at bay as along as possible. Be the last thing touching Dean's skin. But Lilith sees to it that doesn't happen. Sam's 25, holding his brother's dead body, tears kissing his face instead of lips.

 

Dean is 31, counting the punches from Lucifer like they’re kisses from Sam. "Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you."  
And something shifts, fist unfurling. "It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him." He backs away from his bloodied brother, knowing this is the best ending he could have hoped for. Walks to the edge, closes his eyes, imagines stars shaped like freckles, and falls into their embrace.

 

Sam is wrecked. Sick and feverish. Wild eyes and shaking limbs as he confesses to his big brother what his greatest failures were, how he was never good enough. He's ready to sacrifice himself again, but Dean already watched that once, lived for a year with a cold ache in his heart and more long months next to a brother who was missing his most important part. Another year fighting his way through Purgatory and too much time trying to rebuild what they once had. Not now, not again, he can't lose him again.  
"Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you." Dean pulls Sam into an embrace, squeezes tight to let him know he's not going anywhere. "Come on. Let it go, okay? Let it go, brother."  
They stumble outside together, sink down next to the Impala with hands clutching each other. Watch the angels like stars rain down, showering kisses over each other's face and hands and chest for each flickering, fading light.

 

Dean is staring down at Sammy, bloodied by his own hands.  
"You'll never, ever hear me say that you -- the real you -- is anything but good. But you're right. Before you hurt anyone else, you have to be stopped at any cost. I understand."  
He has to kill his brother. In order to save the world from himself, he has to kill him. "Sammy, close your eyes."  
"Wait. Take these." Sam says, and on the ground he places pictures of Dean as a baby, his mom, little Sammy. "And one day, when you find your way back.. Let these be your guide. And they can help you remember what it was to be good...what it was to love."  
Dean stares at them. His mom. The death that started this all, ripped away from them so brutally it tortured his father's soul, turned them into hunters on the run without a home. Except they did have a home. Sammy was his home and Dean was his. They always had a place with each other. He lost Sam so many times, to Stanford and Jess, to Jake, to Ruby, to Lucifer and Hell, Amy, Gadreel and finally The Mark. But he remembers the promise he made to his little brother, one that he can't break anymore. And he feels the scythe glide into Death's flesh.  
After the initial shock passes, Dean falls to his knees in front of Sam, feels large hands digging into his arms. "Why? Why, Dean?" Sam is crying, looking confused, scared, grateful.  
"I can't lose my home again, Sammy." Slips his hands into that long hair, gripping at the base to tilt his face up and look into those ever changing eyes. "I can't lose you again, Sam."  
And Sam lets out a shaky breath, slotting his mouth over Dean's, each kiss in time with their beating hearts, saying "I know, I know, Dean. it's okay, it's okay."


End file.
